Work Text
The sounds of clinking glasses and lively conversation filled the palace courtyard.It was a rather balmy evening in Hell. As such, several entryways had been opened, and most of the party had migrated outside.King Paimon of the Ars Goetia stood at the edge of the garden, resplendent in his robes and crown. He took a little finger sandwich from a nearby servant and ate it with relish.“I did enjoy yesterday’s execution,” said a regal woman with tail feathers as long as she was tall. She swirled the ruby liquid in her long-stemmed glass, sighing wistfully.“It was such a straightforward affair!”A man whose body was mostly flame hummed in agreement, adding, “Much quicker than our Balam’s hearing…”“Quite.” said Paimon, “Nothing like a little spilled ichor to start the week!”The woman cawed with laughter as the man crackled out a chuckle like hissing firewood.“Where is Balam, anyway, the crazy bastard? Still doing penance, or has he bought himself off?”Paimon did not answer.He cast a dour look across the yard as three young demons darted past, skipping and yelping and pulling at each other’s finery with absolutely no regard for decorum.“I’ll have your tail, villain!” shrieked the tallest of the chicks. He lifted his robes as he slid across the yard, propelled by a little trail of ice.“You’re not taking any more of my feathers!” shouted another. He rounded suddenly on his heel, brandishing a little toy sword in his attacker’s face.Paimon’s eyes flicked back to the taller child. Indeed, the boy wore a plume of colorful feathers, jammed into his crown like some atrocious headdress. The boy smirked. “What, afraid you’ll run out of them?”“No, I’m afraid you’ll look mas estúpido than you already do!”The taller boy bristled. “Ha! As though I’d ever care for your opinion! You’re just butthurt I’ve proven myself the greater tactician —“He squawked as the other boy jabbed him in the stomach with the tip of his sword.The little peacock simmered with rage, an icy blush spreading across his cheeks. His fists clenched at his sides as he stamped his foot, summoning a trifling flurry of snow.“Fine! I’ll just take your whole arse then!”“Trágalo, is what you’ll do!”Meanwhile, the smallest chick quietly circled her way behind the second boy, eyeing his sword.The taller boy noticed. He smirked.“Take a good look!” he preened, pointing at his feather-crown. “Each trophy represents another one of your failures! It just eats away at you, doesn’t it?”“Why would it? They look tacky and embarrassing!” the smaller chick yelled.“Says the nitwit who’s covered in them!”The boy pointed a thumb at his own chest, head held high. “Well, I make it work!”The taller boy blinked.“Well… You’re dumb!”“¡Cállate el pico!”As they squabbled, the smallest among the three made a rush for the second and yanked the sword from his little claws.“Ay!” he exclaimed, rounding on her just in time for the taller to blast him with a gust of wind. He toppled over.“Sister, get me a blue one this time!” yelled the taller fledgling as he buried the smaller boy in snow.The girl laughed cruelly, skirts and pigtails bouncing as she whacked the pile of snow with the flat of the sword. “¡Para!” cried the boy's muffled voice.“Stellaaa," the tallest boy whined, "That’s not what I said!”Paimon’s eyes narrowed as he watched this miniature drama unfold.“What delightful children!” he chirped. His two guests nodded in solemn agreement. The fiery demon had to turn away momentarily to dab a sentimental tear from his eye.Paimon thought for a moment, wondering if any of them were his. Their faces barely rang a bell. But he had brought one, hadn’t he? He scoured the yard until his gaze settled upon a small, gray fluffball at the edge of the courtyard.Ah, yes, of course! That one.Little Prince Stolas was not playing with the other children, brandishing weapons, or testing his powers. In fact, he seemed to exist outside of the pecking order entirely. He just sat in the grass, looking at nothing in particular as he hummed some witless tune.“Won’t you excuse me for a moment?” Paimon deadpanned.“Of course we will, sire,” rasped the fiery demon.“You are so very, deeply excused!” wheedled the bird-woman, bowing so low her tail was singed on the other man's face.“Mmkay,” Paimon mumbled, making his way over to his son.“Hello, Prince Stolas,” Paimon said to the owl-boy’s back. His little body tensed in surprise before turning around.“Oh, hello Father!” he chirped happily.Paimon had no idea what he had to be so smiley about, but at least he was being relatively quiet.“What are you doing over here?” Stolas blinked, his little mouth rounding in surprise at the question.“Oh, I was just looking at the plants here in the courtyard,” he explained.“Mhm,” Paimon rumbled, “And why are you doing that?”Stolas’s little face screwed up in thought. “Um, I’m not quite sure, but look — I found this!” Paimon narrowed his eyes as he leaned in to see what Stolas was so entranced by.“Taraxacum Infernalis!” Stolas beamed, pointing at some scrabbly little herb. It had sprouted up from a single, hairline crack in the otherwise pristine cobblestone, all thorny, rangy stem and bulbous buds.Paimon sniffed. Why in Lucifer’s Hell was he so excited about this ugly little thing?“They’re also called dandy-hellions! This is the first one I’ve ever seen outside of my books!” He rocked back and forth cheerfully.“Well, Son, that would make sense, seeing as dandy-hellions are icky weeds, and our garden is immaculately kept.”Or at least, it should’ve been… Paimon growled low in his throat. Now, where was that soon-to-be-dead gardener?“Anything and everything that is not meant to be here,” he continued, “is sprayed with the strongest herbicides alchemically possible, and destroyed.”Stolas gasped. Paimon raised a brow, taken aback by the way his son’s eyes had begun to sparkle.“Oh, wow,” breathed the owlet with reverence. He reached out to pat a gnarled leaf as though it were the top of the plant’s head.“You must be a very resilient little dandy-hellion, then.”Was he fucking talking to it now?“Later on, it will bloom —“ Stolas enthused, turning back to his father, “— Into a beautiful, golden flower! And when it goes to seed, it will become a fluffy seed-head of florets. They say if you blow them away, a wish of yours will come true!”“Oh, Son,” Paimon said, “That is patent nonsense.”Stolas watched with huge, round eyes as Paimon drew himself up to his full height. The king put forth a hand, cleared his throat, and crooked his index finger. The rangy little weed burst into flame, and was gone.“There!” Paimon steepled his hands.“Isn’t that better?”Stolas gazed silently at the little pile of ash.“Now, why don’t you conclude your little dirt-games and join the other nestlings? They look like they’re having so much fun!”Paimon gestured across the yard, and Stolas’s eyes followed. He gaped in horror.The smaller fledgling had the tallest one by the collar, slapping him over and over across his fluffy little face. Black ichor leaked from his beak as he scrambled, cursed, and bit. The littlest one, meanwhile, had busied herself with chewing the toy sword’s blunt edge into a frighteningly sharp point.What an industrious young lady, thought Paimon.—Stolas approached the other children, legs stiff and palms sweaty. They paused to look at him, breathing hard from the tussle.“Um,” tried Stolas, “Hel-““And just what are you supposed to be?” laughed the tallest chick, still pinned beneath his playmate.Stolas blinked.“A… Little boy?”The chick, who Stolas now recognized as a white peacock, barked out a laugh so loud he nearly choked.The smaller boy, seemingly remembering himself, released him with disgust. He got to his feet, blushing as he wiped his hands on his vest.“Shut your beak,” he hissed, kicking dirt into the peacock’s eyes.He growled, scrambling to his feet indignantly.“What’s your name?” asked the parrot boy cordially.He was a little older than Stolas — a little taller — possessing an heir of confidence that made the young prince nervous.“Prince Stolas,” he said, bowing, “Pleased to meet you.”“Oh!” chirped the parrot child, a spark of recognition flashing in his eye, “Right — Prince Stolas!”Stolas was only a little surprised he’d heard of him already — They were all descendants of the Ars Goetia after all, and in a way, family.“I’m Vassago. I like your crown!”Stolas smiled.Andrealphus watched with an expression of discontent.“You know, I’ve never seen plumage quite like yours,” he chimed in.Stolas, who hadn’t realized there was anything noteworthy about his plumage, asked, “Really?”“Oh, yes! I had no idea a prince of Hell could look so… Frightfully dull.”The littlest chick, a peahen in pigtails and bows, turned to laugh as she stabbed haphazardly into the dirt with her self-made spear.Vassago scowled.“Andrealphus,” he snapped, “You don’t know the first thing about being a prince, por qué no te callas?”Andrealphus scowled back.“A marquise knows many things!” he huffed.“Besides, you haven’t even received your duties yet! Unlike I have!~” he sing-songed.Vassago wound up to slap him again.Stolas looked around uncertainly, searching for an escape, when he met his father’s eyes from across the courtyard.King Paimon spared his son an encouraging nod, gesturing for him to continue mingling. Stolas watched, at a loss, as the boys resumed their fight.The girl, however, had turned her attention toward him.“So, you wanna play with us?”Stolas brightened, nodding.She looked him up and down, long, feathery lashes narrowed skeptically.“Fine. Well, I guess I could recruit you… Are you good at anything?” she demanded, pointing at him with her sharpened sword.Stolas had no answer.“Hellooo?” she waved it concerningly close to his face, “Can you not speak now or something?”“Don’t bother, Stella,” Andrealphus chirped, shoving Vassago away with a blast of ice.“I think he’s a little… slow.”Stolas’s brows rose as his little fists clenched at his sides.“What do you mean?” he asked, guarded.Andrealphus giggled, holding a hand in front of his beak in that exaggerated way children did when mimicking the gestures of someone older. Stolas could relate.“See?” he snickered, glancing at Stella.“!Satán mio!” snapped Vassago, slapping the snow off his nice vest, “Can you not behave decently for five seconds? This is a party - your parents are here!”Andrealphus waved him off.“I’m only making conversation… And watch your mouth! What would your father say, taking our Dark Lord’s name in vain like that?”Vassago lifted a sparkling hand. Andrealphus yelped and ducked as a razor-thin beam of starlight shot over his head. Stolas watched it blast off into the sky, his red eyes huge.“Whoa!” he breathed.“Well,” said Stella, dragging him back to earth, “If you want to play, you’ll need to know the rules!~”Ooh, rules? He was excellent at those! Stolas readied himself.“First rule — “ she intoned sweetly, “You must fight as though you are really at war. That means being strong, fast, and above all, Rufus!”“Ruthless” Andrealphus corrected.It seemed he and Vassago had reached some kind of shaky truce, standing a few feet apart with their arms crossed. Andrealphus sported a slowly fading black eye.“What-ever!” she shrieked. Stolas flinched away.“Anyways,” she continued, waving her sword in a little circle, “When you’re ruthless, that means you’ll do whatever it takes to destroy someone!”“You don’t have to play that way, though!” added Vassago.“There are many ways to win a battle! Like traps, or strategic weapons, or even just being sneaky — “Stolas nodded, a slight smile on his beak. Espionage and attrition were rather interesting. He’d read quite a few books on those subjects, anyway.However, if he was being honest, this was all ramping up a little quickly for Stolas. But he’d been given a task, and he desperately wanted to impress them.“Right. That sounds like fun!”“Sooo,” Andrealphus lilted, sidling closer to the smaller boy, “Does that mean you’ve officially entered the Great Intra-House Goetic Garden War?”Stolas hesitated. Actually, he had more questions about this game, like how exactly moves were scored and what the win conditions were. It all seemed incredibly vague.However, no one else seemed to share his confusion, so he furrowed his brow with conviction and announced: “I am!”Abruptly, a freezing gust knocked the owlet off his feet. He hit the ground with a hoot of surprise.The siblings’ mocking laughter hit him almost as hard.“It’s okay, Principito, back on your feet!” Vassago shouted.Stolas heard a yelp as a blast of power knocked Andrealphus over.“¡Darle dosis de su propia medicina!”But Stolas had no idea how to do that. And even if he had, even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t move. Was it possible his body had been frozen to the spot?“Holy Hell!” giggled the little girl, pointing the spear in his face.“He handed that one to you on a silver platter and you couldn’t even hit ‘im back?”Stolas only blinked.“I’m not sure I even want to play with him,” Andrealphus replied as he got to his feet, dusting himself off.“He’s worthless!” Stella agreed.“Be polite, you two! He’s never played like this before. He never leaves his palace.” yelled Vassago, not unkindly.All the same, Stolas’s face began to burn.Andrealphus and Stella laughed.“Well, I can see why!” cooed Andrealphus. He eyed the little prince, looking thoughtful as a slow grin spread across his beak.“Oh, Stella!~”Stolas didn’t quite like that tone.Stella scowled in her brother’s direction.“What?” she snapped.“I think the poor thing is forfeiting!”Stolas had no idea what they were talking about.“You remember the rules, don’t you Stolas?” asked Andrealphus.Stolas’s head swam.“To play, you must be ruthless.”Stella aimed the sharpened point directly at his throat. It drew back as she readied her arm.Stolas’s heart thumped quickly, his eyes squeezing shut.“I think we should take him out of the game,” mused Andrealphus, “Don’t you?”“¡Ayuda!” squeaked Vassago.Within a fraction of an instant, the sound of crackling flames filled the air. The smell of brimstone choked Stolas as the shrieks of broken souls leaked into his brain.Darkness fell across the courtyard as King Paimon materialized behind his son.Stolas opened his eyes and watched as the spear hit the grass beside him. The girl backed away, her eyes round as coins.“Children,” Paimon boomed — His was a voice that was one and one thousand all at once, reverberating through the earth like the roots of a mighty tree.“I - it wasn't gonna kill him for real!” Stella explained. Her voice sounded so unbelievably tiny — like a needle hitting the floor of a cathedral.“He’d have healed, right Andrealphus?”Andrealphus made no attempt at defending himself, nor her for that matter.But Paimon did not reply. Instead, his red eyes bore down upon his son.Stolas realized, vaguely, that he was looking very blurry.“Boy,” Paimon barked, “Get to your feet at once.”Stolas did, somehow, his limbs and face numb. He wiped the tears from his eyes, staring at his feet.“Aren’t you going to fight back?”No one dared breathe as Paimon waited for his reply.Stolas cast a helpless look up at his father.The king’s hard, white mask offered no quarter.The prince hoped his eyes could tell him what his words would not: He wanted to. He really did! But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t move.“I see,” Paimon sighed, turning away.“Come then,” he commanded.Stolas glanced back at the three chicks. They looked at one another in stunned silence.As his blue eyes flicked back to meet Stolas’s, the smallest hint of a smile crawled across Andrealphus’s face.“I said come!” Paimon shrieked from somewhere deep inside Stolas’s mind, ringing through his ears, his chest, his small, hollow bones, “you dull-witted little bitch.”Stolas went.That night, Stolas had a dream.In it, he walked the hallways of his home, but with every turn the walls became less and less familiar.“Come along, young prince!” called a voice ahead. He rushed forward, hope rising in his chest, but could find no sign of his impish caretaker. The young prince began to panic, breaking into a sprint. The hall stretched on and on before him as the voice grew fainter and fainter until it was replaced by the sound of his own panting.Suddenly, a change! Ahead shone a glimmer — a pinpoint of light. There at the end of the impossibly long hallway, stood a fragile, golden bloom.Stolas paused in surprise, only for a moment, but that was all it took for the hallway to stretch on without him ‘til it was nearly out of sight. He gasped, running with all he had as the bloom became smaller and smaller.Please, please, please, no, he prayed to the stars above, and by some miracle, it worked! He was gaining ground. The bloom grew larger, closer, brighter — But something was wrong.Dark smoke filled the air. Acrid, burning his nostrils, blurring and stinging his eyes — Fire, green and hungry, licked up the walls as he ran past, engulfing everything and leaving only ash. Stolas heard himself shout, reaching for his flower as the flames engulfed them both.Stolas’s eyes snapped open to a dark room. He breathed hard, his body shaking. He reached for his face, checking for burns, but his hands came away wet with tears.The prince reached blindly until his fingers seized upon the fabric of his favorite plush. He drew it up to his chest, and sobbed.